


A Talent for Taking It

by Rrrowr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dom Deucalion, Fingerfucking, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Sub Stiles, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While at a BDSM club, Stiles finds an unlikely scene partner in Deucalion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Talent for Taking It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1001cranes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/gifts).



Stiles has been planted on his knees on the side of the room, which is cavernous and dark except for a bit of soft white lighting from high up on the ceiling. It looks like it could have been a small factory space — all concrete flooring and walls made of brick and steel frame — but it’s been converted easily. Its harshness has been softened by plush couches, rugs, benches — the steel ignored in favor of polished wood X frames and swings made of leather and chains. He feels intimidated just being here, kneeling on a soft bit of carpet while someone else gets spanked while bent over a bench on the other side of the room. Her cries are loud and enthusiastic and so entrancing that Stiles doesn’t notice being approached until the sight of her spanking has been blocked off by a pair of legs. Stiles straightens from where he’d been leaning to keep the girl in sight and looks up.

"Deucalion," the man says, holding a hand down for Stiles to shake. He takes goes down to one knee next to Stiles and pushes a pair of sunglasses further up on his nose. “You seem new."

Stiles shakes Deucalion’s hand, gives his name, and says, “A little new, yes."

The shouts from the other side of the room become abruptly loud, sharper, and Deucalion turns toward it, listening. “Are you scared?" he asks Stiles.

"No," Stiles says.

Deucalion turns back to him quickly, though, attention snared. “Would you like to be?"

Stiles’ heart pounds abruptly. Deucalion’s mouth is curled into a little smile, hopeful perhaps, but mostly predatory — enjoying the way Stiles’ eyes go wide and the way his breath catches. "Sure," he finds himself saying. “Yes. Thrill me."

*

The negotiation is quick. Stoplight safe words. Stiles doesn’t want to be gagged, but marks are great, bondage is great, everything is great. There’s a lot he hasn’t experienced himself, so it’s hard to say what he isn’t willing to do until then. In the meantime, there’s the safe words. It’s fine.

"I think we’ll work together beautifully," Deucalion says, fingers tucked under Stiles’ chin. His thumb brushes under Stiles’ mouth. The touch is brief, leaves Stiles shivering with anticipation, and then Deucalion stands with Stiles quickly following suit. "The hanging platform to the right on the end." Deucalion moves his hand to Stiles’ shoulder. “Lead us there."

*

Deucalion touches constantly. It’s a good grounding feeling, those hands on Stiles’ body, because the hanging platform’s massive weight is held aloft by only four thick chains that disappear up in the ceiling. Every time Stiles thinks he wants to move, the platform sways underneath him, and with his hands bound behind him, he would have no way to catch himself.

"You’re not going anywhere," Deucalion murmurs, squeezing the tips of Stiles’ fingers. Stiles squeezes back. “You’re exactly where I want you."

Stiles feels his body flushing already, turning warm and red under the attention, and Deucalion’s hands sweep up the middle of his back, tighten at the back of his neck, and then slide back down again. Stiles arches into them, and Deucalion takes one hand away, brings it down sharply on his backside. It’s so sudden that Stiles cries out, and the spot grows hot under Deucalion’s comforting fingers.

"You seemed to enjoy that," Deucalion says.

"Yes," Stiles breathes, and Deucalion’s hand grips one cheek and then the other, considering. Stiles pushes back into them. “Please."

Deucalion hooks his fingers under the elastic of Stiles’ jockstrap and lets it snap back into place. “Steady now. There’s no rush," he says.

*

The spanking is rough. At first Stiles is sure that he can handle it — the heat, the impact, the way it makes the platform sway under Stiles’ knees — but Deucalion holds him still at the waist, with the bar of the shackles between his fingers. It keeps him stable and poised with his ass in the air and his face against the leather padding. Soon, the platform gets slick with his sweat, with his hot panting breaths. His knees slip. He has to fight to stay where Deucalion wants him, to be in just the right spot for Deucalion’s hand to strike. He feels tender down to his thighs. His cheeks feel like they’re scalding and raw, and it hurts now in a way that’s consuming.

"There you go," Deucalion murmurs — his voice sounds very far away. “You were very good. How do you feel?"

Stiles makes a whimpering sound, jerking when Deucalion palms over his skin and then leaning into the touch in surrender. It feels like sandpaper, almost — ragged and burning. He thinks very much that he’d like to stay just like this, letting the cool air soothe his aching skin and drifting under the steady throb of his own heartbeat. Deucalion slowly guides him onto his side, careful not to let him near the edge of the platform, and Stiles distantly feels Deucalion’s fingers sliding down his arms to the shackles, undoing them, freeing him. Stiles flexes his fingers, but doesn’t immediately pull them in front of his body.

"Did I wear you out already?" he asks, palm over Stiles’ shoulder, then knuckles at his neck, against the side of his face — which Stiles is only just realizing is wet with more than sweat. “You cried. Too much?"

"Was good," Stiles tells him, shivering suddenly. He doesn’t know why. His ass is still so so hot. “Not too much."

"Good," Deucalion says, petting through his hair and kissing Stiles temple. “I’m glad. I’m enjoying this too. You have a real talent for taking it just the way I like." Deucalion drapes over him — one arm laying across Stiles’ chest, the other curving around Stiles’ head. He covers Stiles’ wrists, rubs them with his thumb. “Do you think you could take more?" he asks, and Stiles shivers, shivers, wanting. “Because I want to hear you come."

And oh, Stiles hadn’t been paying attention to it before — not really, too distracted by the way his backside was throbbing — but his cock is hard and leaking within the confines of his jockstrap. When he squeezes his thighs together, his cock twitches, and he whimpers, and Deucalion chuckles softly in his ear.

"Stay right here," Deucalion says. “I’m going to get something for you."

Distantly Stiles knows that Deucalion has left him, his hands gone, but it can’t have been for long. He barely gets to feel the cool room air before Deucalion is covering him again, his chest leaning into Stiles’ back. He’s a broad, solid presence back there, grounding him heavily in welcome heat.

"I think I could make you come from this," is all the warning that Stiles gets before he feels slick fingers pressing between his cheeks, circling his entrance and giving Stiles no room for misinterpretation. “Would you like that?"

Deucalion’s fingers give a firm, suggestive touch. Stiles could have them if he wanted, sliding thick inside him — filling him up and splitting him open. It’s a scary thought, a little. Stiles remembers that they’re in a room with other people; someone could see — but he raises one leg and is rewarded immediately by the press of one finger inside him. There’s no pause, no hesitation. Deucalion pushes inside him all the way to the knuckle and Stiles quivers around the intrusion, already wanting more — he can handle more. He knows it. As good as it feels, that single digit isn’t going to be enough to get him off, so he squirms, pressing back until he can feel Deucalion’s hand against skin. When Deucalion deigns to give him a second finger, Stiles bears down like he can’t stand not having it as deep as it can go, nudging inside him alongside its brother and making him wet and open. Deucalion’s voice croons encouragement in his ear, tells him that he’s making the most lovely sounds, tells Stiles that he feels good around his fingers.

"Are you going to come?" Deucalion asks as Stiles gasps against the platform. Stiles whines, clawing at the leather with blunt nails, and writhes, needing just a little bit more. “Stiles?"

Stiles snuffles, managing to murmur a soft acknowledgement that — yes, he’s close. He can’t feel much else beyond the way Deucalion is holding him down and open and spreading him with just his fingers, thick and hot and still nothing compared to the heat in his ass. For a second, Deucalion’s fingers withdraw and then, when they come back, there’s a third with them. They fit with struggle, and Stiles cries out, pushing against Deucalion until he gets shoved back into place. Deucalion’s free hand slides under Stiles’ neck and covers it, dragging him up against Deucalion’s chest — choking him just a little, just enough, making him afraid that he might have given himself over to someone he should’ve been more cautious of. Then suddenly, those three fingers slide in deep and a sharp twinge of pain makes Stiles jerk and shout and come.

Deucalion keeps him close as he comes down, his hand having moved from Stiles’ throat to over his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees him pull a handkerchief out of his pants pocket and crumple it between his fingers as he gets the lube off. Stiles tilts his head back onto Deucalion’s shoulder and sighs, tempted to fall asleep.

"Still with me?"

Stiles leans in, breathes at Deucalion’s collar. “Yeah. M’good. S’all good."

They lean against each other in silence for a good long while. Deucalion fishes a bag of chocolate out of his bag — which Stiles can see now hanging from one of the chains at the corner of the platform — and he feeds them to Stiles by hand until he stops shivering. The entire time, Deucalion remained as a comforting source of warmth.

"So," Deucalion begins just as Stiles is starting to feel restless, having roused fully from the haze that had taken him over earlier. “Come here often?"

Stiles snorts, smiling. “Not very. I’ve only been here a few times. Hasn’t become a habit yet."

Deucalion’s hand rubs over his arm, smoothing down the goosebumps. “Would you like it to?" Stiles goes still with surprise and gets a kiss to his forehead for it. “Think about it, if you like. But you were amazing, and if you want someone to play with, I would never say no."

Twisting in Deucalion’s arms, Stiles gets on his knees and puts his arms around Deucalion’s neck. He carefully teases his fingers through Deucalion’s hair, hooking them in the wire frame of his sunglasses next to his temples.

"Amazing, huh?" he asks, wiggling a little as a pair of broad hands settle at his waist. Deucalion doesn’t say anything as Stiles slides his sunglasses off and tucks them in the vee of his collar. Very softly, Stiles kisses the corner of his mouth. “You were pretty amazing yourself," he adds with a coy smile. “And since you were so great, I could be persuaded to open up my Thursday evenings."

Deucalion rumbles with a deep laugh. “Persuaded, hm?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, fairly breathless with daring. “You got a paddle in that bag of yours?"

Deucalion shrugs. “I could."

Stiles grins. “Well if you’ve got one, I think I could take it, don’t you?"

For that, Stiles gets his ass grabbed, both cheeks in Deucalion’s hands until he sucks in a sharp breath. Deucalion hugs him close like that and kisses Stiles mouth, leaves him gasping.

"I think you could take it very well."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://rrrowr.tumblr.com/post/53316082077) on tumblr.


End file.
